Love Is Everywhere
by Octavia Delitian
Summary: Chapter 1: Tamazin & Oskatat. Chapters 2 & 3: Polgara & Durnik.
1. Silver and Steel

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**The Malloreon**_** and do this for myself and others without profit.**

**If there are some strange things in my stories, the reason is that I only own the Swedish translations. I have thought of buying the English ones, but I don't think it's worth the money (sorry!). I try to check everything as well as I can.**

**I start out with two **_**very**_** minor characters that I have always liked. Tamazin and Oskatat. A bit elderly perhaps, but cute in my opinion.**

When Urgit announced that he intended her to marry Oskatat, Tamazin at first questioned her son's sanity. After the first shock, she turned to him, full of fury and told him that she was too old. Marriage was for young people who would start a family. For a woman, to marry in her age was close to scandal.

"But you are not _any_ woman, Mother," Urgit giggled, full pride and amusement. "You are the King's mother, and I determine what is best for both you and any other woman in my land. If I say so, it is so."

"Belgarion went too far with you," Tamazin muttered. Giving up on returning to her knitting, she dropped it on the floor. There would not be any royal babies for a while.

"I am a man of extremes," Urgit replied and brushed off imaginary dust from his horrible outfit. "Besides, I cannot look after you the way I should when I'm married to my charming Princess here, so I leave the task to the second best man."

Then she remembered her intended husband, who was standing right next to her. Her thoughts had been on marriage in general, not marrying Oskatat. She looked at the Seneschal, but as soon as their eyes met, she looked down quickly. She cursed herself for behaving like a commoner. _Second best? Oskatat has looked after both of us since Urgit was born._

"Do you think that you are capable of the task I am now assigning to you, Oskatat?" Urgit continued.

The large Murgo frowned for a second, but then he straightened and gazed at the King.

"My King, I see the great importance in this matter, but I would hardly call it a task. I will, however, fulfil it to your satisfaction if the Queen Mother does not refuse marriage for other reason than age, which I do not consider a problem at all."

Everybody'e eyes were directed at her and she looked from one to the other with rapid glances. Urgit leaned forward a bit, adjusting his tilted crown with sinewy fingers.

"Well, Mother. Will you oppose my direct order or make a choice that will make you so much happier?"

"If you put it like that, I have no choice but to comply."

Urgit nodded with satisfaction and turned to Prala, who stared at the little man on the throne.

"How did I handle that?" he asked.

"We need to discuss this later, but now I'd like to talk to Tamazin," the young woman said.

"That will be fine, Prala," Tamazin said and rose up from her chair. The Princess helped her back to her rooms, where they could talk in private.

"You will have to excuse Urgit. I thought it was a good idea the first time I heard of it, but I thought that he would handle the matter with more delicacy."

"So, you have plotted behind my back to get rid of me once you're married? No matter what Oskatat may feel, I am simply too old and frail to be a good wife." Prala looked at her with pained eyes.

"You are still very beautiful and after all the pain in your life you deserve to be happy." Tamazin felt like crying, but refused to yield her hold on her emotions.

"But it would change everything I know of between us." the Queen Mother said quietly.

"Things have already changed a lot recently. For the better. I have a feeling that this will only bring good." With that, Prala excused herself and strode away to yell at Urgit. She would probably end up in his knee as usual. Tamazin's own upbringing told her that you could not do that unless you were married to the man, and even if you were it was still not entirely correct. But then, adultery was not correct either. She was lucky to be alive.

Oskatat had kept her secret all this time and helped her small, weak son as best as he could without making things worse. She remembered the pain and anxiety when she could not see Urgit anymore, when his indoctrination began. The fear of what might become of her son. Dead from punishment or by the hand of a brother. Turned evil from the teachings of the Grolims. All along, the fear that her secret would be known, with both their deaths as result. Her hair had turned grey quickly.

When she had given birth to Urgit, Taur Urgas had looked upon the weak child and never touched her again, other than kicking or pushing, hitting and throwing. Trying to destroy the beautiful body that had decieved him and failed to give him more good sons. So many bad memories and only a few moments of happiness. Those of a Drasnian she met forty years before. If Urgit had died, those memories had been forever darkened, and she would have died from grief over them both.

Now Taur Urgas was dead among his entire kin. His son was King now. Like his father, Urgit had been good with breaking into places where he should not be and get away with it. His own physique no longer mattered when he could bribe ten muscular men with the gold from the King's treasury.

If she loved anybody else but her son and his future wife, it was Oskatat. He would never treat her with other than respect. Perhaps too much of it. Being far too old to give him any children, she hoped that he would not take that as an excuse.

The day of the wedding came, and Tamazin rejoiced over her son, who was marrying such a fine girl. The changes of the terms of the royal marriage came as a surprise for her, but it would undoubtedly be more practical with just one beloved wife and no concubines. Then the children would never get too many and they would be real siblings who loved each other. No more pointless deaths.

Despite all the happiness, the Murgo ceremony was not at all warm. A scarred Grolim held it and Urgit had to give straight orders to prevent a sacrifice. It was not custom to kiss the bride, but Prala insisted that Urgit followed the foreign tradition. Tamazin and Oskatat held on to Murgo ways, just to be safe. The people were already half scandalized, because neither Urgit nor Oskatat wore the ceremonial armour, but finely cut velvet. Prala had really insisted on that point. She would not kiss someone smelling metal, and it would look ridiculous if the Seneschal wore other clothing than the King did.

Afterwards Tamazin excused herself from the celebrations. Oskatat helped her back to her rooms and she thought that the Seneschal would return to the banquet, but he followed her inside. As he closed the door behind them he gently lifted her from the floor. Holding her in his arms, he started to walk slowly down the hall, staggering slightly when he bent down to kiss her. She had not been kissed for over forty years.

Her old husband had preferred smacking her over the mouth instead.

Tamazin was in trance as she put her arms around Oskatat's neck and let herself be carried to her bedroom. He put her down beside the soft bed, just as gently as before, and looked into her eyes. The smile on his lips made him look at least five years younger, and made her feel like it too.

"No words can explain what I feel right now, Tamazin," he said as he touched her cheek. He had the hands of a man who does paperwork rather than fighting, but she knew that he was still deadly with a sword. She swallowed and made herself speak.

"Then you should perhaps just show me instead." _If my mother were alive and heard this she would strangle me on the spot._ Oskatat rewarded her bluntness with a passionate kiss that let her know exactly what he felt at the moment. As he broke away some time later, her head spun so much that she had to lie down. He took off his boots before joining her on the bed.

Much later, as Tamazin lay exhausted, resting on Oskatat's strong shoulder, she realized that this was the first time she would sleep an intire night in a man's arms. Urgit's father could not take the risk, and Taur Urgas would not condescend to do it.

Not that she had wanted that rabid beast beside her anyway.

Tamazin's silver hair mixed with Oskatat's steely grey on the silk pillow, and they spoke silently to each other. This was different from anything that she had ever experienced. New memories would fill her head now. Happy memories.

**Thanks a lot to my first reviewer, Jancelle. That last sentence was a bit over the edge, since the paragraph before made such a perfect ending.**


	2. Back to Life

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Belgariad. _T****his is for myself and others, without profit.**

**This starts with Durnik, while he is dead. I don't believe in an afterlife, but that doesn't stop me from describing one possibility. **

The blackness around him was like smooth velvet against _something_. It was not his body, which he had left in a hurry back in Cthol Mishrak. Where was _he_ in all this? Durnik. Can you even name a soul, when it is the body that you recognise and respond to? He knew that he had done so when he was still alive.

Life and death. Not opposites, but links in a chain. Were there more of them?

Whatever prophecy won, it could not reach him here, but the others? Had he done wrong and caused their misery?

You could regret death as much as you could regret the time before you were created. Sometimes you could regret your own decisions, but rarely life itself. Most people wanted to live. Those who damned the day they were born simply hated the ingredients in their share of existence.

He had told Mandorallen once, that people feared death so much that they were afraid to be alive. Now there was nothing left to fear. Nothing left to sense it with. Slowly, pieces of his soul started to slide away, spreading themselves in the nothingness to fulfil his separation from life. Rest, they called it. How little they knew.

Suddenly there was a dim light in the edge of what was left of his attention. The darkness struggled to consume it, and it almost died away before a flashing blue came to support it. Durnik started to shrink back into one concentrated existence, but he was still firmly attached to the black weave. It would not give him up that easily.

Seemingly for the first time, he felt cold. That could not be right. The light became solid and pushed at the unyielding darkness. The weave shattered and he with it.

Fire and ice filled his lungs at once, and his weak, numb body gave a faint single cough. He could not move a muscle.

He was so cold. All he could see was a blur, and the voices were so far away. Then something warm pressed itself against him. The heat returned to his blood, softening his body into movement and sharpening his senses. Now he breathed the air eagerly, sensing the scent of his dreams.

Durnik's eyes immediately found Polgara's. Perfect as always, and deep violet at the moment. Yes, she was Polgara. Always had been, and always would be. There was no reason in denying it anymore. He tried to speak, but his throat was as dry as Algarian humour.

"Silk! Fetch some water for Durnik," she said without looking away. The Drasnian spy complied, but gave Durnik a warning look when he handed over a mug and a nearly emptied waterbag to Polgara.

"If you've got the strength for it, I think now is the time to start running," he mumbled. Durnik understood nothing about that remark. And why was everybody suddenly looking at them? When he had gulped the water, he was suddenly aware of how close Polgara had been the entire time. When he studied her face once again he could see that she had been crying. A lot actually. The front of her dress was soaked, and he realised that his hair was quite damp.

"So, we won?" Durnik managed to say.

"Yes, Durnik. Thanks to you, we did." Her eyes shone when she looked at him. He swallowed.

"Are you sure you're not mistaken? All I can remember is a pointless, foolish outburst."

"It was not foolish," Polgara said with strange passion. "And it was just as important as when Garion duelled Torak."

"I can't see how." Durnik was both puzzled and filled with a dreadful suspicion. Why was he brought back to life?

"You will see, soon enough," Polgara whispered and embraced him. Durnik looked over her shoulder, trying to read the others' expressions. Belgarath and Garion were both struck with wonder, but Ce'Nedra looked anticipating. Silk made not so subtle gestures and seemed to mimic for him to run.

As Durnik attempted to ask what was really going on, he was interrupted with the most magnificent sunrise he had ever seen. He wondered for a while if it was because his old memories were still a bit bleak, but everybody around him looked astounded as well.

After some time even the most beautiful dawn is no longer that interesting, and that was when Durnik spoke.

"Is there something you haven't told me? You're all acting so strange. Especially you, Silk." The Drasnian looked stiff and glanced warily at Polgara, who rose up, smoothing her dress. Trembling, Durnik did the same with some assistance from Belgarath.

For the first time ever, Durnik thought that Polgara looked uncertain about what to say. She took a deep breath.

"In the dark prophecy I was supposed to be Torak's bride. He was obsessed with it during The Battle of Vo Mimbre. That time I managed to resist him, but only because of the many distractions of a battlefield. He could simply not focus entirely on bringing down my will. Since then, he slept and his lust for his reward never faded as it would have, had he been awake. After Zedar had... murdered you, Torak soon awoke and tried to win me over. He failed because what had happened to you gave me the strength to resist him eternally."

Durnik contemplated this for a while.

"How could that be?" he asked, mostly because he wanted her to tell him out loud, to remove all doubt.

"Because that made me realize that I could never feel real love for anybody but you, and he was about to take that memory away from me." She almost cried now, but looked immensely proud with herself.

"Pol... " Durnik started, but she was not done yet.

"When I was offered to have you back, the cost didn't matter to me. Aldur gave me a choice. Either live forever as I always have, without you, or get you back and marry you on equal terms, meaning I lost my power."

A huge stone of guilt fell down on Durnik's head at that moment.

"But how could I ever be worth it?" he asked desperately. "If one can estimate that you are as "old" as you look now, I'm almost twice your age. I will die long before you, and you'll be without both me and your power, and you'll curse this day." Polgara looked stunned. She had probably never considered this.

"But don't think I'll ever let you regret it as long as I live," Durnik said for comfort. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. His arms instinctively wrapped themselves around her perfect figure, and what little thought there was left in his brain congratulated him for the good bargain. Death contra the life of his dreams. _Durnik, you lucky man._

Durnik realized that it had gone on for too long when Garion and Silk coughed simultaneously.

"What happened to Zedar?" Durnik asked, while attempting to carefully untangle Polgara's arms. One could say that his superego had just fully awakened from the slumbers of death.

Belgarath stepped forward, shooting Silk a delicate glance before speaking.

"I sealed him into the stone underground, and there he'll stay until the end of time."

Silk's face took on a shade of grey, and he looked away in discomfort. He would probably never forget his trip on Relg's back. Durnik remembered how Relg had cured himself of a terrible cold by walking through stone. He could not quite understand how alien substances as clothes could still hang on, while whatever caused illness couldn't.

"I think that we've said enough about that traitor," Polgara said. "Let's go. Riva is very far away from here, and I'm sure that they miss their King very much, Garion. And you two surely want to get married as soon as possible."

"Yes, Aunt Pol," Garion and Ce'Nedra said in unison.

**To be continued in the next chapter. Don't be shy, I want reviews. A story without a single review is so depressing.**


	3. A Rose in Riva

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**The Belgariad**_**. I do this for myself and others without profit.**

**Part two. Ulgoland and Riva. Sometimes so sugarsweet it sickens the weak. But we at least get to hear Belgarath trying to have another "boy meets girl" talk. In vain, again.**

The guilt Durnik had felt over robbing his true love of what made up her identity was soon almost entirely replaced by anticipation, since Polgara did not seem to have changed at all. His attention was now directed at the task that lay before him. If he had waited long before marrying it was nothing compared to his future wife. Though he still had a hard time accepting her actual age, he no longer doubted the truth.

During the long trip back to Riva there were many opportunities to speak of their future life, but less so of letting out the true nature of their feelings. In Sendaria it was tolerated, even encouraged, that betrothed people should deepen their relationship with kissing, but there was also that sense of propriety that while couples should not be left alone to mischief, a public display of affection was just as bad. Polgara had lived long enough to see through any custom, but nonetheless she respected them.

Not that there were no such moments during the trip. If the light of the sun was too strong in those prism caves in Ulgoland, the light of the full moon was a caress to the eye. Losing himself in the beautiful rays falling on a pool of perfectly still water that reflected the coloured beams upon the walls, Durnik did not notice that Polgara had followed him.

The lights started to race across the dark rock in a frenzied dance, and the sound of a pebble thrown into the pool echoed almost infinitely. As he turned towards the source of the chaos a sight far more perfect met him.

"Sorry if I disturbed you, but we need to talk."

Polgara was wearing the same dress that she had worn on Taiba's and Relg's wedding earlier the same day. It reminded a lot of the one that he remembered, quite fondly, from the beginning of the search of the Orb. She had apparently made up her mind some time ago what sort of dress fitted her and stuck to it. The colour was blue, as usual, and magnified her already stunning beauty.

Durnik could not help wondering how she would look in red. Blue made her look so noble and untouchable. He then remembered her saying to Yarblek that she could dance like those Nadrak women Garion had told him about.

He stuffed those thoughts away quite firmly and tried not to blush.

"Talk about what, Pol?" Durnik said as innocently as he could.

"You're avoiding me," she said. "And I'd like to know why."

Durnik did not know what to say. Perhaps he had avoided her, a bit, but that was just because he was after all not her equal. Her reputation and being Belgarath's daughter still made her far above his station. He tried to tell her this.

"You're diminishing your own value, dearest Durnik. You are far from just any common blacksmith."

"If I'm not a blacksmith, then who am I? I gave my life to save the world, you say, but I got it back by ruining yours. Where's the honour in that? You should have left me dead."

Polgara stared at him, eyes wide with shock, then she looked angry. She might have slapped him if he had not turned away with tears burning in his eyes.

"Oh, Durnik. Can't you see that I truly love you?" She hugged him tightly. "If I had left you there, my life would be only half until I met the same fate as my dead uncles. At least now I'll be happy." She looked up at his face. "Won't you?"

"Of course I will," he said calmly, wiping the few tears away with the back of his hand.

Then he remembered something that had bothered him lately. Part of the reason he had felt a bit strange around her was that there had never been a traditional proposal. This was a memorable place for it.

Polgara's eyes widened again as he sank down onto his knees before her and took her hand in his. The lights were still dancing, but far more slowly, and made them both shimmer with all the colours of the rainbow.

"Pol, I've loved you, only you, since I first saw you. I am not worthy of your love, though, and I will struggle every day to gain the true right to your heart. Will you let me into your life as your husband?" You always had to ask that, however sure you were of the answer.

Her answer was yes, and she confirmed it by almost dragging him up on his feet and pulling his mouth to hers. The echo of Polgara's "yes" seemed to linger unusually long and when it died away the lights were perfectly still.

Some moments later, Durnik stayed a short while after Polgara returned to the others. He picked up two perfectly shaped, white pebbles that seemed to be twins. He held them in each hand and put the one in the hand that had held Polgara's in his pocket, while he threw the other pebble into the pool to accompany hers. Then he left the flickering lights behind him.

XXX

During the entire trip Durnik noticed that Belgarath was studying him, but the sorcerer never approached him about it until they were on the ship to Riva.

Belgarath had simply told Durnik to follow him to his cabin after dinner. After making sure that nobody listened, he told him to have a seat in a rickety chair while sitting down on his bed with the mandatory tankard of beer in his hand.

"So, Durnik," he said. "Pol told me that you think yourself too much inferior to her to make a good husband. She also said that you feel a lot of guilt over her loss of power." He gave the other man an inquisitive look and gulped some beer.

"She told you?" Durnik said and laughed nervously.

"Well, I think that you may be right, as it is now." Durnik lowered his gaze, feeling a bit insulted. "But there is a solution to your problem. Are you willing to hear it?" Durnik looked up again, not quite sure if he had heard that last thing correctly.

"I will try anything."

"Good." Belgarath put the tankard on a rough crate that served as storage. Not that the old sorcerer brought much more with him than what he kept on his body. "First, you have no reason to feel any guilt, since it wasn't she who lost but you who gained."

"I don't understand."

"What Aldur did was taking away Polgara's independence in a marriage with you. Rather than taking away Polgara's gift, he rised yours to match hers."

"But I have no gift."

"Now you do, or at least very soon." Belgarath picked up the tankard once again and leaned back against the wall.

"But if her powers are still intact, how come she doesn't know?" Durnik asked.

"Because she's too afraid to fail."

The tankard was now empty and Belgarath placed it on the floor.

"Now, your training begins," he smiled.

Durnik's entire world was upside down in a matter of hours. The guilt over taking away Polgara's power was replaced with a lesser one. He hated having to keep such secrets from her and it pained him to watch her suffer in vain, but he occupied his mind with working on his new talent under Belgarath's supervision. He was of course making a lot of noise in the beginning, and Belgarath had to make a fool out of himself in order to give reasonable explanations to Garion and Polgara. Durnik thought it strange that Polgara did not contemplate still hearing the release of the will of others.

"We ought to make Pol a suitable gift, don't you think?" Belgarath said at a session in Durnik's room a week before the wedding. By that time Durnik had made huge progress.

"I have already thought of one, but I'm not sure if it's possible." Durnik said and rose from his chair. He pulled out a drawer and picked up something made of metal. Belgarath looked astounded when the blacksmith held up a frail rose for his view.

"I thought that you were the type of smith that mended plows and shoed horses!" the sorcerer exclaimed.

"I do a variety of works," Durnik said, lowering the flower. "Besides, nothing is impossible when you really put your heart into it."

"Indeed, it's not."

"But I'm still not satisfied with it," Durnik said.

"But it's magnificent!" Belgarath cried.

"It's dead," Durnik mumbled while making a sad face. "So cold to the touch. That is not how I want to symbolise our love." He paused for some time. "Do you think that it's possible to make alive, and still have the qualities of the steel that it's made of. Soft but unbreakable, that's what I'm looking for."

"It's up to you to make it work," Belgarath said. "If you feel that you know how to do it, then anything I might say could mislead you."

"I should try with other things first. I don't want to spoil it."

Belgarath leaned forward with a mischievous look in his eyes.

"I think that you should transform it right in front of her eyes. That's a nice way to tell her and it leaves no doubt."

"Isn't that a bit excessive?" Durnik said.

"Not excessive," Belgarath chuckled. "Graceful."

Durnik put the rose back and returned to the chair. He was done practising for the day, but would look for small pieces of metal to work with.

"So," Belgarath said to his future son-in-law. "Are you prepared for your marriage?"

"Pol has already planned the ceremony and we'll move into the cottage in the Vale that she's told me about. We'll bring Errand, but these things you already know about."

"I wasn't talking about the material side. Are you prepared for _her_?"

"I'm not sure what you're... " Durnik started but was interrupted by a meaningful look from Belgarath.

"Oh." This was bad. You simply did _not_ discuss these things with the father, but then their family was far from ordinary. But _still_.

"Your upbringing has made you quite shy about such necessities. I don't want it to come between the two of you. I love my daugher too dearly for that." The tone this was said in made Durnik swallow.

"I assure you that I would never intentionally hurt her. Neither emotionally nor physically."

"I know that, Durnik," Belgarath said. "But you can skip a lot of awkwardness if you just ask someone who knows."

"I'm not as ignorant as you seem to think, Belgarath," Durnik said with a blush. "But I'll consider what you've told me." Then he rose up and started for the door.

"Where are you going?" the sorcerer asked.

"I'll find Silk. It's late enough for him to get drunk, and with some luck he won't remember a thing tomorrow."

"Why him?" Belgarath exclaimed.

"He's quite down to earth in those matters. If somebody overhears they'll think that _he_ brought the subject up."

The door shut behind him and Belgarath left quite soon after just having a second look at the rose.

_A remarkable man. Cunning, too._ He thought as he went to seek out Garion. With some luck _he_ would at least stay to listen to his advice. _Silk, indeed! Only _Barak_ would be worse._

And so, muttering under his breath, the old sorcerer went to find his grandson.

**Can at least somebody tell me if they've read the whole thing? Any review is a good one. Just put a smiley or something in it. It may happen that I reply to signed reviews.**


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